( ”Breakin rocks in the hot sun, I fought the law and the law won…”)…Sonny Curtis & the Crickets…1959

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

my inspiration

Chapter Six

LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Monday, Feb 16, 2009…11pm

In case you’re wondering, the really prime real estate at the city lock up, specifically, the holding tank where the drunk and disorderly sleep it off, is the corner spot near the cell door or topside if there are bunks available. Unfortunately, I had neither to choose from due to the late hour of my arrival courtesy my old pal and former boss, Lt. Dill-hole. Of course I knew he would renege on our little truce right after he shook me down for what he thought I’d found at Sally’s place. Fortunately for me, I managed to keep my cool and resisted cracking wise when his goon squad arrived to cuff me and scuff me. That wee bit of respect earned me a downtown sleepover instead of a long weekend on Terminal Island, high incentive for my cooperative attitude as most of the Sherriff Deputies assigned to the City facility were friends of mine from way back in the day. What that meant to me was that I wouldn’t be subjected to the standard shakedown from hell before checking into my semi-private room in the tank for the night. That little perk would allow my pocket full of stolen evidence to go safely unnoticed, at least until my release in the morning. I tapped my thigh lightly to make sure everything was where it belonged and then surveyed the cell for signs of curious eyes.

Actually, all things considered it was a pretty quiet night. I mean, I had seen this room filled to capacity more times than I cared to remember over the years. Of course that was from the outside looking in. You gain a far different perspective from this side of the bars. The sight of the unsightly was bad enough, but the smell, that was much harsher than I remembered. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d have to shower with industrial strength Mr. Clean to rid my body of the stench! As for my clothes, fuggedaboutit! I would have to burn them as soon as I got home!

From my vantage point at the farthest corner of the oversized communal cell, I surveyed the room killing time. Clearly there was no way I’d be falling asleep in here, not with this assortment of semi-coherent and incoherent roomies. The air was heavy with the powerful aromas of sweat, urine, flatulence, and vomit, making it difficult to breathe. Whoever was on the top bunk nearest me was talking in his sleep while two guys sharing the bottom bunk were busy feeling each other up. Like I said, there wouldn’t be any shut-eye for old Whitey tonight! And on that pleasant note I dozed off.

LAPD, Hollenbeck Station slammer…Tuesday, Feb 17, 2009…5am

“Rise and shine porcupines, chow time, get it while it’s hot gentlemen,” bellowed Deputy Bob Blackburn, a six foot six inch 20 year veteran who looked more like a gladiator than a cop! It was SOP to feed the drunks before sunrise so they could cut them loose before the city streets were filled with commuters, you know, normal folk.

I stayed put while the great unwashed slowly meandered toward the front to get their tray of powdered eggs, dry toast, and coffee. I was surprised at how good the coffee smelled, and I was actually pretty hungry having missed my Osso-Bucco at Fat Johnny’s. I was even more surprised that the French roast was able to cut through the stench in tank! I closed my eyes for a moment figuring I would be relatively safe for a few minutes while everyone ate in silence. A power catnap was just what the doctor ordered, and I was almost out when I felt the sharp sting of a baton across the soles of my shoes.

“WHAT THE…” I hollered as I scrambled to my feet!

“Snap out of it Roode, the LT said to cut you loose before he got into work. Said he saw enough of you’re ugly puss last night,” Deputy Blackburn said with a wicked grin. He leaned against the bars and watched me hop up and down holding my left foot which was still smarting from the baton tap.

“You enjoying yourself Bob,” I asked dryly?

“Ah, you know how it is Whitey, we aim to please hoss,” he answered with an even bigger grin.

“Natch,” I replied walking past him toward the open cell door.

He giggled like the dumb-ass hillbilly he was and followed me out of the cell and on up the stairs at the end of the short hallway. We paused at the heavy door at the top and waited to be buzzed into the mantrap. The door unlocked automatically when the green light came on and we walked inside together. It was pretty cramped quarters and I actually felt bad for Blackburn having to breathe my stink, I could barely stand my own self! He reached around me and pressed a button on the squawk box behind me.

“Come on man; shake a leg out there will ya! Whitey here is pretty ripe, I can actually smell my nose hairs burning,” Blackburn pleaded. The door buzzed and slid open before he could heap on any more humiliation onto what was left of my self-esteem.

“Let’s go stinky, I want you on the street and out of my airspace before I lose my breakfast,” Blackburn ordered.

He gave me a firm but friendly nudge with his night stick and I exited quickly, without bothering to look back or trade quips with the big lug. I just casually flipped him off as I walked over to the property cage to collect my personal items and bus fare. I could hear Blackburn howling with laughter as he went back into the mantrap to return to his duties. I listened to the clerk count out my small wad of cash (small in denomination that is) and then identify each item before I signed the receipt. I couldn’t wait to get the flock outta there! My first stop post lock up would be my flat for a long hot shower and then I planned to hit The Pantry over on Ninth for a proper breakfast and some quiet time to figure out my next move.

I had stewed all night on the blue thread theme and couldn’t help wondering why Oscar and the blue crew were so protective of this particular case. Something didn’t smell right and given my current hygienically altered state that was saying a lot! I decided before I’d taken ten steps out of the building and sucked in my first few gulps of fresh air (a bit of an oxymoron considering that I lived in Los Angeles), that I would ping on my ace in the hole over at USC Medical Center and call in a couple of favors she owed me. Judy Looney (a.k.a. Looney Tunes) taught forensic science at the University and was also a regular

Consultant on most of the big-time murder cases in the area. No doubt there would be some conflict of interest here given the fact that she was probably already involved in Oscar’s investigation, but she was also a close (and I mean close) friend of my ex-wife Ronald, I mean Rhonda, no, I guess I do mean Ronald? Oh bag it, that gender bending concept just frustrates the crap outta me! Suffice to say that she was more than just a regular at my monthly poker games; she was a regular at my ex’s parlor games as well, nuff said.

Judy was the exception to the rule that “those who can’t…teach” she was in fact the guru of forensic science. Her classes weren’t filled freckle faced undergrads; her classes were filled with forensic scientists sent by cities from around the country and beyond to learn her approach to the craft if you will. To say she was brilliant would be an understatement. Luckily for me she was also still in the closet and I’m not above using my inside information as leverage when I need a favor. So after my shower, shave, and meal Looney Tunes and I would be having a wee chat about the little blue threads in my pocket and whatever tell-tale crud and DNA might be soaked into them. My gut has always been a good barometer when it came to hunches and right now it was growling audibly. It was more than hunger pains, it was fear. Of what I had no idea, but it felt very real nonetheless, why?



( ”I hear you knocking at my cellar door, I love you baby can I have some more…”)…”Needle and the Damage Done”…Neil Young…1972

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

my inspiration

Chapter Five

13131 West First Street (Little Tokyo), Monday, Feb 16, 2009…9pm

The front door may have had yellow barrier tape blocking entry but that wasn’t the case with the kitchen window, which conveniently overlooked the fire escape. So, after a short elevator ride and a thirty second delay while I expertly picked the lock on the door to the roof (when one busts criminals for a living, one learns a thing or two), I climbed down three flights to Sally’s apartment and peeked in the window. The place was dark, not even a night light was on. All I could see was my own reflection back lit by the street light below. If this were a Stephen King novel a rotting hand would have burst through the glass and ripped open my throat leaving me to drown in my own blood while staring into the cold dead eyes of a murdered call girl. But it’s not so I tried the window and just like I planned when I exited earlier, the latch was disengaged and I slid the casement open slowly.

Once inside I closed and latched the window, no use tempting fate should someone have seen me breaking and entering. I pulled out my trusty pocket flashlight, the one I got from the Home Depot dollar bin and swept the room. Not much to see in the kitchen. In fact it didn’t appear as though Sally spent much time in here at all. Even the fridge was empty except for an open box of Arm & Hammer baking soda. If she was worried about odors there must have been something in there at some time? I’m guessing that the CSI team must have bagged and tagged all of the contents. Technically they should have taken the box as well, but one whiff and I could see why they left it behind! I held my breath, dumped the nasty stuff out onto the counter and sifted through it. There wasn’t anything noteworthy so I walked slowly out of the kitchen and into the small dining room. Sally had good taste, a black marble table with four matching black teak side chairs. The centerpiece was a black swan made of what appeared to be ivory? The table was set for four with fine white bone china set upon on black ceramic chargers. The utensils were obviously silver and the wine glasses and water goblets were expensive crystal. My first observation, they had never been used. So she didn’t eat at home and she didn’t entertain in this room. Not surprising for someone in her profession.

Turning 180 degrees I walked toward the living room. Clearly she and Uncle Lu studied under the same interior decorator because it was an explosion of white, well, except for the yellow paint outlining where Sally had expired, and the faint stains left behind by a corpse. I scanned the room with the small beam of light from my little flashlight, and came to rest on the glass coffee table. The table top showed signs of being dusted for fingerprints but that’s not what caught my eye. I knelt beside the table and studied it closely. There, underneath the thick glass, stuck in the frame that held it up was a navy blue thread about two inches long. Curious, the first thought that passed through mind was cop? This was a tread from a uniformed officer from LAPD? Could be, I mean the place was lousy with LAPD officers and they’re not the tidiest bunch. But still, how did it get wedged in that way under the table? I dunno, perplexing isn’t it? I debated sharing this evidence right away but thought better of it. Instead I whipped out one of the sandwich baggies that I keep handy and slipped the follicle inside. As long as I was taking risks by just being here, might as well go for broke, right? Besides,'…in for a penny in for a pound…’ my oldmother always said.

Anyway, next came the queer part for me, nosing around in Sally’s drawers. Snooping through people’s private areas always makes me blush, especially women, and the fact that I knew Sally and her family just made the experience all the more exasperating. I left her chalk outline behind me and wandered down the short hall to her dark bedroom. It smelled like you’d expect a young ladies room to smell, fresh and clean, with a hint of whatever body lotion she was fond of; in Sally’s case it was definitely jasmine. However, I have to admit that I was surprised at the stark contrast between her bedroom and the rest of the apartment. Let’s put it this way, if this were an episode of “The Odd Couple” her bedroom could only belong to Oscar Madison. It was like ground zero, clothes strewn everywhere, mixed here and there with a couple dozen pairs of shoes, a colorful assortment of hair scrunchies, an impressive collection of lace, and satin undergarments, at least two brands of feminine hygiene products, some odd pairings of this and that accessories, and, what appeared to be the remains of a PB & J sandwich? Strange things went on in here but none of it had anything to do with her murder. Apparently the girl was just a textbook P-I-G pig!

Ignoring the mess I continued on with my careful and professional sweep of the premises. If this truly had been her actual residence and not just a place to meet her johns, it would have something to tell me. People are laziest at home when it comes to keeping secrets; at least that’s been my experience over 25 years as a detective, with and without a shield. Slowly I swept the room with my trusty two dollar flashlight from Home Depot, and looked for signs of Sally’s killer. Methodically I snooped through each drawer of the black lacquer dresser that rested against the wall opposite the foot of her king sized bed. Actually, I’d seen one exactly like it at IKEA a week or so ago on one of my rare shopping excursions. I had been looking for an armoire to supplement the lack of closet space in my small flat, but settled on a wicker hamper when I discovered there was assembly required on the trendy over priced furniture. Removing the drawers one at a time, I emptied contents and sifted through each of them carefully and then checked underneath for any surprises. I did the same with the night stands that flanked the bed and then the vanity table in the corner of the room near the master bath. Nothing! There was literally nothing obvious to question or to build a theory upon? I had to assume that the CSI team had already collected everything they thought relevant, so I was left with what was left behind and the pile of stuff on the bedroom floor, nice!

The bathroom was even emptier than the refrigerator, not even a toothbrush, so that meant this was likely just a place to conduct business, monkey business perhaps, but business nonetheless. Still, I studied every square inch of the small bathroom on the off chance that the crew before me had been rushed or sloppy and had left behind something helpful. As luck would have it, they might have as I pulled another blue thread from the bottom of the shower curtain. The corner of the curtain had bee folded over and apparently nobody took the time to peel it back and find the prize. That was a break for the good guys, namely yours truly. It didn’t mean much now, but it might. For now it just meant that someone wearing blue cotton material had been in both the living room and the master bathroom. The living room was no blaring siren but the master bathroom insinuated either a trusted or maybe an intimate relationship with Sally. In any event it was curious enough to study further. I placed the new thread into a new baggie and got up to exit the room. I took a step and paused for a ten count. The shower curtain had been wet, ergo; someone had either used the shower or utilized it? I walked over and slid open the curtain slowly, shining my light along the top and bottom just in case anything dropped down or popped up.

When nothing appeared I knelt down and cast the light onto the tub itself and swept it in quadrants with my peepers. There was wax residue on inside ledge of the tub which meant that someone was fond of bubble baths by candlelight. There was a damp washcloth with a faintly red circular stain indicating that whoever enjoyed the candlelight also enjoyed a little Merlot or Cab with the experience. Technically this was another oversight by CSI; apparently the LAPD had turned this investigation over to the “B” team. I wasn’t surprised though, Lt. Celaya like cases closed quickly. Even in police work it was quantity that brought promotions and accolades, quality was a pleasant surprise but not exactly necessary. If you produced headline numbers that benefited the suits at City Hall your career path was gold plated. So what if an unfortunate few went to the big house undeservedly, they were the exception to the rule as far as ladder climbers like Oscar were concerned. Oh well, that was ancient history for me now, I don’t know why I still let it bother me. Chalk it up to a raging case of social conscience I guess. In any event their sloppy detective work might help me piece together Sally’s puzzle sooner than later, and I had an uncomfortable hunch that it was going to be a necessity where Lu Rong was concerned. He and Jai were “tootsie rolls," hard on the outside and soft in the middle. I’d noted the look on his face as I left his apartment earlier. His face told me that he would take this hard, and I was determined to find him closure and keep him from anything rash or extreme!

My light ended its sweep of the tub at the drain. It was one of those designs that had a cheap metal screen covering the inch and three quarter opening over the drain. There weren’t any hairs tangled up in the screen so at least CSI was thorough enough to catch the obvious. But given their performance thus far I leaned over the side and pried the screen out of the drain opening. The screen was squeaky clean but when I fished around the opening with my finger I pulled out a long string of black hair and what appeared to be yet another dark blue thread. Scoreboard! In detective speak if a clue knocks three times open the goddamned door! I whipped out another baggie and placed the whole mucky stream inside. Thanking my lucky stars and the LAPD I got up to leave the apartment. I wiped down everything as I backtracked toward the kitchen. I had been wearing gloves the entire time, but one can never be too cautious. I turned off my flash light when I reached the kitchen and was about to exit through the window when phone on the wall began to ring off the hook.

“WHAT THE F…,” I exclaimed, startled more than I should have been. Before my heart stopped racing and my blood pressure stabilized I reached for the telephone. I knew instinctively who would be on the other line.

“Hello Lt. Kill-joy,” I said sarcastically.

“Hi-ya Roode, find anything interesting, replied an unpleasant but familiar voice?

"Nothing worth sharing Oscar," I answered smugly.

“I can always count on you to be you Whitey. You make it too easy for me,” he continued.

“What can I say, like the song says, I gotta be me,” I replied, trying to sound more bored than pissed.

“Why don’t you skip the fire escape and take the elevator down. No use all of us working up a sweat chasing you all over town. While you’re at it bring down whatever you’ve found in there and we can exchange theories while you’re being fingerprinted and processed.”

I cursed under my breath before answering. “Ah come on Oscar, can’t we work together on this one? I’m doing a little snooping around for Lu and Jai, you know, the mahu couple who own your favorite deli. The dead girl was Lu's niece,” I answered, hating myself for pleading with the rat bastard.

I hoped his silence meant that he was considering my plea. I didn’t have to wait long. “Come on down Whitey, we’ll talk about it.”

I smiled a relieved smile and headed for the front door. Maybe the years had softened his naturally nasty demeanor? That was a revolting thought; I might actually have to be nice to the big lug one day! Just the same, I don’t want to trust him too soon, leopard spots may fade but they don’t fall off. I pulled out the baggies and placed the contents into three different pockets and then scooped up dust and whatnot to replace the threads. Oscar wanted me to share what I found, but he didn’t need to know everything I found. As I walked into the elevator I had one thought running through my mind…”I wonder if they’re still serving for supper in the tank, I'm starving.”